Blood, sweat, tears, and..shit, basically.

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Love is yours.

Her lips,
sweet as honeydew as they met his – dry,
but full of promise. Their eyes
locked in deep contact until
their lips met for the first time.

They held hands and walked
the grounds. Her hands,
smooth, like rocks
beneath a waterfall and his,
rough, like a sailor’s chin.

The embrace, body onto body, feeling
every bit of warmth that is
generated from the physical act.
She smells
like strawberries, fresh
and perfect and he,
musky but full
of heart.

A few years of words
and talking, walking and smiling,
loving and living, they
get married. A new chapter, a new
beginning and a new life.

Warm, cuddly nights, with comfort
never far from reach, they sleep
with peace in their hearts and warmth over
their weary bodies each night.

He desires children, ‘they bring joy!’,
he exclaimed. ‘But,
what if, it isn’t a boy?’,
she worries. She worries
too much. He should, a little bit
more. They argue and fight
but eventually make up
by the end of the night.

She squeezes his hand as Tommy takes
his first steps. He listens to every single one
of little Tommy’s attempts to communicate
verbally. He places her arm around her
as they watch little Tommy grow
into a man – out of school
and into the world.

They see themselves
in him as he carries his newly-wedded wife, spinning her around
like the happiest man in the world would.

The years go by
quickly and they are
old and grey
with not much left
to say. Still, their eyes meet
every day. She rests her head
on his chest, each one of his final
heartbeats so painful that
she does not cry.

She dies
alone and the wind
chimes start singing. The school bells
are ringing. The next lesson
is in session.
She sits two seats away
from him, brushing her hair
across her forehead. She wears
a smile that spurs
in him a wave of passionate warmth.

He suppresses
those feelings. He knows
that he cannot have her. She is
but one of many – too perfect, too
beautiful and, well, he, is
of another world, for another girl.

So they die
alone with different
tunes. They could have, would have, had
a life
together
but fate, fate doesn’t exist
in the case of but one
missing piece.